I only know of one other Rab Townsend in all the known world, and he is a darts champion in the Lanarkshire and West Lothian areas of Scotland. I would gladly take credit for his exploits, though.
When my friends receive anonymous hate about their appearance or lifestyle, on one hand, I’m very proud of them when they stand up for themselves and make long speeches about how comfortable they are in their own skin, and how it’s all just water off a duck’s back.
On the other hand, I know they’re lying when they say it didn’t get to them, and I wish they really believed the very things they said in response, because there is no reason that some anonymous fool should ruin their day, or set them back.
You can leave me
but please don’t disappear.
You may love me,
but I can’t go on
breathing nothing but
You can’t squeeze any joy
being thinner thin air.
I need some recommendations for depressing, glitchy, triphop type stuff, because that is what I’m in the mood for, and that is something I’d like to make.
There is no denying the natural beauty of a dancer’s body. Like finely tuned mechanisms programmed to seamlessly bend, twist and twirl, the contortionists’ bodies taken on positions that may not be innately appealing. Neatly stacked flaps of skin…
I always used to make a big deal out of my birthday because I knew if I didn’t, no one else would. My birthday is fast…
I know that feel.
The same thing has happened to me before. You leave it up to someone, and the day of, they ask “so, what do you want to do today?”
"Oh, I don’t know, go back in time and tell myself not to build up any expectations about you being able to plan me a good birthday? Yeah, if you could make that happen, I’d really appreciate it."
Rab Townsend — A brief, and debatably warranted lapse into melodrama
And now, a ludicrously melodramatic song I wrote in about ten minutes about my experience of combined Seasonal Affective Disorder with the post-convention blues.